


Hayffie Week

by allonsysilvertongue



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: AU, Angst, Cliche, F/M, Fluff, Hayffie, Hayffie Week, Marriage of Convenience, Quote, Song fic, Touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4646172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsysilvertongue/pseuds/allonsysilvertongue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles written for Hayffie Week on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here and Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Hayffie Week this week so we kick off with today's theme which is Inspired By A Song which for me is Soldier On by Temper Trap.

Here and Now

_**This side of mortality is scaring me to death.** _

Haymitch stood frozen, fist clenched at his side. He wanted so much to avert his gaze but he couldn't. A part of him felt that looking away was a sign of disrespect for the colleague he couldn't save. She was about to die and this was the only way he knew how to stand by her.

When the gunshot rang out, Haymitch flinched slightly. It was only after Portia's body had slumped forward, lifeless, did he shut his eyes. The image was imprinted in his mind and he tried to regulate his breathing but he was failing.

He could feel it choking him. He could feel his chest tightening. He tugged at his collar desperately. His hand shook and there was an urge to curl his fingers around the familiar curve of the neck of a bottle. He craved for alcohol but he couldn't have access to it and he felt himself slowly breaking out into a panic attack.

 _Not in front of all these people,_  he thought viciously.

Haymitch turned on his heels abruptly and left the Command room, unaware of Plutarch's gaze on his back. In his compartment, Haymitch dropped heavily onto his bed and clutched his head in his hands.

_**Tomorrow she's gone. If not someday somehow.** _

Snow had already executed Portia and the rest of the prep team. They would turn their sights on Effie next. They would execute her.

He could feel it in his bones.

Effie Trinket knew nothing about the Rebellion and by now, she would probably have exhausted her uses for them. The only thing left was to make a statement; to send a message to the Mockingjay, to the rebels, to  _him._

Effie would die and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was stuck miles away, deep underground.

_**Don't think about it at all.  
Just keep your head low.** _

There was a voice whispering in his ears, asking him to give up. He wanted nothing more than to succumb to it, to give in. Haymitch felt the last vestige of energy and power drained out of him and all he wanted was for everything to end.

Haymitch pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He had not cried since his family was killed. He certainly was not going to start now. But god, the thought of Effie slaughtered mercilessly and slain for nothing engulfed him in a pain that was all too familiar.

_"_ _That's what you do best, isn't it? You give up!"_

He snapped his head.

The random memory of her floated to the fore front of his mind.

How many times had she been angry with him over the years because he gave up on his tributes before he had even met them? Too many. But not her. Never her. Effie carried in her a certain determination he found admirable, a determination he could never muster until Katniss and Peeta came along.

She had never given up on her tributes or on him and he sure as hell would not give up on her now. She was not dead yet. There was still hope, however slim. There was still a chance.

_**Soldier on, soldier on,  
Keep your heart close to the ground** _

Haymitch took a deep breath and pushed himself up. He made his way to Command, the heels of his boots clicking against the floor. There was a renewed purpose in his stride.

He was a soldier now in District Thirteen. He knew nothing about being in the military but he was victor. If there was one thing he knew, he knew how to fight. He wouldn't stop until Peeta is safe and she is back in his arms.


	2. Pretty Just Like Mummy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hayffie Week, Day 2: Tuesday, The theme is The Kids but I'm gonna pretend that I didn't see that it's plural so I will focus on The Kid.

 

**Pretty Just Like Mummy**

Quiet was good. Quiet was a rarity.

Haymitch liked the silence. Ever since Effie moved in several years ago, having a quiet time to himself was almost a luxury. So whenever the opportunity presented itself having some moment of peace was something he looked forward to. It usually came when Effie went to visit Katniss and Peeta or when she made a trip to town.

But when Aria was born and as she grew up, a quiet house was something he learnt to be extremely suspicious about.

"Aria," Haymitch called out when he realised that he had not heard from his daughter for a good fifteen minutes. "Aria?"

"Up here!"

Haymitch glanced up and climbed the stairs towards her room. She was not in it so he moved on, checking every room until he found her in his and Effie's room.

He froze on the doorway with a foot in his room. Haymitch took a deep breath and closed his eyes, hoping desperately that when he opened them, the image would vanish.

It did not.

His daughter was still there, grinning at him. She was kneeling on the ottoman in front of the vanity surrounded by Effie's cosmetic products.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm makin' myself look pretty," the six years old said rather proudly.

"You can't play with your mother's… You gotta put it away, pumpkin. Come on, keep it back where you found them before your mother comes home," he gestured urgently, dumping eye brushes and lip brushes into the drawer.

It was a mess and Effie would most definitely know but the important thing right now was for her not to walk in on this.

"No," the girl frowned unhappily, tugging at her father's wrist to make him stop. "I'm not done yet. I wanna show mummy."

"Show me what, darling?"

Haymitch spun around to see Effie curiously peeking around him to get a look.

"Damn it," he cursed.

"Haymitch, really! Mind your language," she chided him as she stepped further into the room. The gasp was enough for him to know how much trouble his daughter - and by extension him, since he had been tasked to watch over her - was in. "Aria Abernathy! What are you doing? Why are you playing with that? Those are adult things … Those are  _my_  things! What did I say about touching things that isn't yours?"

His daughter glanced at him uncertainly. He lifted both hands up in front of him. She was on her own and for someone her age she understood it – this wasn't the first time the girl had gotten herself in trouble after all - because she glared at her father. Steeling herself, she swept strands of hair out of her face before she turned towards Effie.

"We musn't touch what isn't ours," she said quietly. "But I didn't damage anything. I promise! I was just – I wanted to put this on," she held up the blusher for Effie to see. The brush was in her other hand. "I'm gonna to put this all over my face like you did. You wanna see?"

Effie blinked. The curiousity overcame her anger. "Okay…"

Aria beamed and turned back towards the mirror. In gentle strokes, she applied the blusher on her cheeks like she had seen Effie done a few times before and looked over her shoulder for her mother's approval.

"That's – Oh, you're also wearing my lipstick," Effie noted.

"Yes," the girl nodded. "So I'll look  _just_  like you!"

Haymitch rolled her eyes. She certainly knew how to kiss up to her mother. Effie glanced over at Haymitch worriedly. Surely, Aria was too young to take a liking to this?

Haymitch sat down at the edge of bed across from Aria and nodded his head at Effie, a sign for her to talk to their daughter. Effie knelt in front of her daughter and turned her around from the mirror so that they were facing each other.

"My sweet baby," she began gently, "Why do you want to look like me? You're a pretty girl. I like you as you are."

"I know," she dropped her gaze and bit her lower lip just as Effie would. "But daddy never said I'm pretty. He only tells you that you're pretty."

"What?" Haymitch blurted. He was clearly unprepared to be the source of her daughter digging into her mother's make-up bag. "Hang on a second, pumpkin. I told you that you're cute. I don't tell anyone else that. It's our thing."

"Yeah," she pushed her hair impatiently out of her face. Effie took pity and did her ponytail again. "But I'm not  _pretty_ , daddy. You only said I'm cute so I wanna be pretty like mummy."

Haymitch sighed. Like Effie had done previously, he knelt in front of Aria at the place where she had just vacated.

"Pumpkin, you're acting silly, you know that, yeah? I'm only gonna say this once and you're gonna listen, alright? You don't need all that sh – stuff," he caught himself in time. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever laid my eyes on in this district. Okay? You're beautiful without all that."

"Your father's right, darling," Effie smiled. "It's okay if you like all those pretty things. I do, too. Sometimes you just want to doll yourself up especially if there's something  _really_  special going on, like a wedding or a birthday party. I understand that better than most. But it's very, very important to us that you know just how beautiful you are without it."

Aria nodded. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, you're not. As long as you understand the importance of not going through people's thing without their permission," Effie said sternly.

"I won't do it again. I promise," she said and placed her hand over her heart.

"Very well," Effie dropped a kiss to her forehead. "Now, since you're here with my make-up, I might as well teach you a thing or two. Would you like that?"

"Yes," she nodded eagerly.

Lifting her daughter up, Effie sat on the ottoman and settled Aria on her lap. "First, one does not put on that shade of lipstick when you're wearing a plum coloured dress."

Now that the crisis had been averted and he knew that the two of them would rather spend this time without him, and because this was the perfect opportunity to have his own quiet moment alone somewhere, he gave Effie a soft kiss and placed another on his daughter's cheek.

"I like you better without the make-up," he whispered in Aria's ear and winked at Effie through the mirror.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure the theme for today refers to Katniss and Peeta so I may have gone out of theme for a bit? I don't know ahaha.


	3. Clothing War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday: Capitol VS Twelve 
> 
> I interpret this to mean Effie vs Haymitch. It’s a bit crack.

After losing ten tributes over five years, Effie Trinket approached this year's game with renewed energy and determination, hell-bent on dragging Twelve's reputation out of the mud.

It was all well and good if only it did not involve him. Alas, that was not to be, so he found himself being paraded in front of sponsors for the past few days.

His escort had insisted that he smile more, even to complete strangers – "they could be potential sponsors! Really, Haymitch, smiling wouldn't kill you – and had made him engage in mindless small talks. That, by far, wasn't the worse. It was the lunches with rich corporate men and old ladies desperate for that slice of attention from a victor that had him groaning and grumbling.

Haymitch had told her time and time again that no matter what they do or what she plan, no sponsors would pledge their money to District Twelve but she was adamant that they try. She refused to give up.

That woman was a fighter, he would give her that.

Except today, she was walking on very thin ice and grating on his every last nerve. Seeing as how he had indulged her over the last few days, he expected to be granted one day - just  _one_  night - to go to a bar with Chaff and forget the madness. She didn't see things his way apparently because she had slotted them for a dinner meeting with one of the newer sponsors without consulting him on it. She was absolutely certain that Twelve would walk away from that dinner with something.

Haymitch knew better of course because Gloss and Cashmere had beaten them to it. And sponsors would  _always_  bet on the career district. Still, Effie refused to listen.

There had been a roaring match between the stubborn Capitol woman and the annoyed drunk from Twelve in the middle of the Penthouse which had sent the avoxes scuttling away. She had even called ahead to Eleven's suite when she found out they planned to spend the night drinking at a bar and cancelled his plans with Chaff behind his back.

 _The nerve of her,_  he thought angrily when he had found out late that afternoon.

Which led him to where he was now, pacing the living room in agitation.

The avox had returned and was cleaning the coffee table. Haymitch paused and stared at her as she sprayed some kind of chemical that would ensure the table would shine bright. He tilted his head in contemplation as an idea began to form.

A self-satisfied smirk formed on his lips. Haymitch approached the avox and spoke quietly to her. She had no choice but to comply with his request and returned moments later carrying a blue plastic bottle.

"Thanks," Haymitch nodded and disappeared into Effie's bedroom.

He threw open the door to her closet and was momentarily assaulted by the array of colourful clothes she had in there. Without a second thought, he gathered them all in his arms and hurried over into the bathroom where he proceeded to dump them into the bathtub.

For a brief second he hesitated but the events of the past few days flashed through his mind and really though, the prospect of sitting through dinner with people who had no interest in Twelve at all was not something he looked forward to so Haymitch turned on the tap at full blast, letting the water fill the tub.

Once it was half full, he uncapped the heavy plastic bottle and poured the contents of it in the tub. Haymitch used the handle of plunger to stir the contents to his satisfaction and then he stood back, watching the colours slowly drained away from the clothes as the bleach worked its way through.

When the clothes started to turn white, Haymitch chuckled. All those couture dresses she was so proud of and all those expensive clothes now reduced to nothing but a load of white fabrics.

There was no way she would be ready for  _that_ dinner unless she borrow his clothes. Now, that was something he wouldn't mind seeing her in.

The satisfaction quickly faded when he found out just what she did to him in retaliation a few days later when he had to walk naked to the male tributes' stylist's room while covering his bits, cautious of wandering eyes in order to borrow some clothes.

"Can't be that impressive if you're covering it," she commented from where she was sitting in the living room, legs crossed in front of her and looking very, very smug.

She had clearly been waiting for this moment.

"Wanna see?" he smirked, turning his body to her.

He lifted his hands because making her flustered was one of the highlights of being dragged back to the Capitol, and he was absolutely certain his lack of modesty would be just the thing that would ruffle her feathers. He was not disappointed when she screamed in horror and hastily covered her face with a cushion.

"Give me that bleach you used!" she shrieked. "I think I need it for my eyes."


	4. New Perspective

** Hayffie Week, Day 5: Friday - Angst **

* * *

New Perspective

The canon sounded, reverberating through the Penthouse far too loudly when the volume was already turned down low. Effie, whose eyes were fixed on the screen, slouched in defeat.

"She's dead," she announced unnecessarily, "another one of our tributes gone."

He scoffed, bringing the glass to his lips. "What were you expecting, sweetheart, a victor? They went in knowing they were gonna die anyway. It's better for them this early. It'll only get messier later, more brutal."

She rounded on him, eyes blazing with fury. "Better for them? Listen to yourself, Haymitch! We could have done something for them. We could have gotten sponsors and bring at least one of them home."

His lips twitched in anger but he remained slumped on the sofa. "When will you learn?" he lifted his eyes to hers. "No one will sponsor us."

"And whose fault is that? Who would pledge their money to a drunken mentor? This is a business proposition - you need to set a good impression so they would be comfortable putting money in your hands. Have you never bought shares before?" she asked without a thought. "You wouldn't buy shares from someone with a shoddy - "

"Shut up," he staggered to his feet. "Shut up, Trinket. Is this what it is to you - a fucking a business deal? Those kids are not numbers on a board. Those kids were breathing and alive just a day ago. They had hopes and dreams. They're not some... You know what? Fuck you and your stupid analogy? Why the fuck would I buy shares for?"

He turned away intending to head back to his room when Effie stopped him.

"Don't you dare walk away from me," she snapped. "That is all you're good at - walking away. Every discussion I tried to have with you only ended up in an argument and in  _every_ single one of those arguments, you never stopped to resolve it and work through it. You're hopeless!"

Calling him hopeless was probably not the smartest idea she had in a while but in retrospect, she should have also let him go because that conversation derailed into one of the worst screaming matches she ever had with him. They had hurled insults at each other and tried to ruin the other as much as they could with no care for the other's feelings or the consequences.

"You're just the same like the rest of them," he spat. His face was so close to hers she could smell the whiskey on his breath. It only angered her further that he was breaching her personal space so she pushed him roughly on his chest. "I thought you were different, Trinket. I actually thought you cared about those tributes," he snorted. "Just here for the fame, huh?"

The blood rushed to her face and she flushed with anger.

She had spent years trying to find her own identity, to set herself apart and rise above others. She wanted to be unique and to succeed so to have him tell her that she was the same had wound her deeply but for him to tell that she did not care was a different kind of hurt altogether.

After her first Games, when she realised that those tributes were just children. Children whom she had been responsible for and for whom she cared for only to have them die mercilessly in the arenas. It was a gut-wrenching realisation and she had cried herself to sleep for days after that. She vowed to make a difference, to bring at least one of them home but a few years had passed and she had lost them all.

"Of course I cared for them!" she screamed. "What would you know when you are too busy drowning yourself in your whiskey?"

She had snatched the glass from his hand and splashed the contents on his face and for a moment, she had stopped breathing. She was sure she was done for. He would kill her.

But all he did was laugh; a bitter, terrible sound that was dragged from his throat.

"And whose fault is that, sweetheart?" he chuckled, throwing her words back at her. "Whose fucking fault was it that I had to turn to this," he gestured at the cart behind him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Yours," he jabbed his finger on her shoulder painfully. "You and your fucking Capitol."

"Haymitch, you've gone insane."

"Have I? Maybe I did when I came home to find my family murdered," he screamed the last part to her and it made her flinched but he was beyond gone. "My girl... My entire life wiped out in a blink. You did that. You killed them."

He had no intention of ever letting her know about his past but in his inebriated state, his tongue worked faster than his brain. Like a dam that had broken, he couldn't stop. He didn't mean her specifically. He was painfully aware that she did not give the order to kill and he knew it wasn't her who squeezed the trigger but right now, what difference did it make? To his hazy drunken mind and the anger burning in his heart, he couldn't differentiate between her and the Capitol. They were one and the same.

"All I've been trying to do since then is to forget that day. Forget ever seeing their lifeless bodies, forget that I'm alone. I want to forget the faces of the kids I couldn't save... So why can't you let me fucking do that, Trinket?" he demanded, raising his voice again. "Why can't you just go to dinners or to your parties and leave me the fuck alone?"

She stared at him, horrified. The words that had never before abandoned her now forsake her.

"You don't know what I'm talkin' about, do you? How would you?" he snorted, his voice dropping to a whisper.

He waved his hands drunkenly, brows furrowing as he tried to articulate his next thoughts.

"You're so blinded, so - so lucky," he breathed out the word with a certain desperation that made her think that he wished he had just a smidge of the luck she had. "But you know what? You're also a murderer," he scowled and then he broke into a grin that cracked his face so painfully. "Just like me. You and I - we ain't so different after all."

He grabbed her wrists and turned her palm upwards.

"You've got blood on your hands," he slurred. "Like I do."

The initial annoyance and irritation dissipated. She couldn't find it in her to be angry with him, not if what he told her about his family was true. And in that moment, something in the way she saw him shifted. All those pain, those horrors, those guilt… It would explain the drinking so much more and the screaming she sometimes heard at night but was too afraid to ask him about.

Before this, she knew nothing about his personal life. He had never talked about his family and she didn't know there was a girl. He had always projected only one image to the public - the drunk from District Twelve – and she didn't think to dig deeper in order to understand.

She snatched her hands away and very hesitantly framed his face, urging him to meet her eyes.

"Haymitch, you're right," she told him.

Her blue eyes were sad and Haymitch resisted the urge to wipe the tears away.

"You are. I live my whole life unaware of anything outside of my world and you're absolutely right to say that I do have blood on my hands. I had a hand in those children's death but I didn't kill your family. I'm sorry about what happened to them. I truly am. I can't begin - " she shook her head. "I didn't kill your family. Please, Haymitch, that's not on me. I will accept the blame for the children's death but ... your family... I'm sorry."

That was the last thing he expected. The tone in her voice snapped him shut and the fight left him just as it had for her.

"I know," he mumbled, sounding almost apologetic. She curled his fingers on her wrists and tugged her hands away from his face, letting it fall to her sides. "I know it wasn't you who killed them."

He turned away and this time, she let him. He stumbled back into his room.

When morning came the next day, Effie waited for him at the basement of the Training Centre, tapping her fingers against her arms impatiently. She had checked to ensure he was awake before she left to deal with the paperwork and had even extracted a promise from him that he would meet her here in fifteen minutes.

Another five minutes passed before Haymitch staggered in, the buttons on his shirt mismatched. She lifted her hand to unbutton them and fix it properly but stopped herself in time. He would not appreciate it after the fight they had yesterday. She still did not know if they were on speaking terms. She never knew where she stood when it came to him.

"I've filled up everything. All that is left is for you to sign on the papers before they will release the -" she stopped abruptly.

There was no need for her to go on as if they had not gone through this for the past three years together.

Effie came to a stand next to him as he stood next to the vehicle, watching carefully as the two coffins were loaded into the back of the vehicle. The Capitol had not even bothered to attach their names on the respective coffins.

The two children had been reduced to tributes then to mere pawns in the Games and now, in their deaths, as their cold body lay in their individual coffins, they had been reduced to numbers. Franz was 1 and Anna was 2. The numbers were pasted on the foot of their coffins.

As the vehicle pulled out of the compound, Haymitch entered their own designated car, followed by Effie. They did not say a word to each other, not even when they reached the train station.

There, Haymitch watched like a hawk as they transferred the coffin on to the train that would take him and the two bodies back to Twelve. He loathed the part when the train would finally reach Twelve and he would have to deliver the bodies back to their parents. They always look at him with so much hatred and disappointment. How was it that he could survive and win the Games but not their child?

"It's all set, sir," the man told him.

Giving a curt nod of approval, Haymitch went off to pick up his duffel bag from the floor next to where Effie was standing, waiting for him. He glanced at her briefly before making his way over to the train.

"Haymitch," she called out for him in a whisper. The touch of her hand on his wrist made him stop. "I – "

He made an attempt to keep his voice light when he said "See you at the next Reaping, sweetheart" because Effie didn't deserve whatever that happened yesterday. His tongue was acidic and he knew that he had hurt her but he wasn't the kind to apologise so he made do.

"I wish I didn't have to," she admitted quietly.

He tilted his head and this time, he looked at her. "Then you better wish hard that your request for a promotion gets through this year, yeah?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she shook her head. Her eyes flickered to the two coffins in the train car. "They were just children. I've lost eight of them and they were so – "

The words were spoken softly but still, his eyes darted around them to make sure that there was no one nearby who could have picked up on that.

"Effie," he raised his voice slightly. The rare use of her name startled her enough to stop her mid-sentence. "That kind of thinking is forbidden. Careful what you said to people, sweetheart, you don't know who your friends are and who'll turn you in without even batting an eye."

"I consider you my friend and I'd – I'd like to think that I am yours too. Yesterday night was – I am sorry, Haymitch, I truly am. I've said some things that were rude but I cannot bear for us to leave on a bad note. Please… I don't have that many friends and …."

The last call for people to board the train came through and there was no time to waste in pointing out that she had a social circle wider than the lip of his bottle.

"Remember what I told you," he took a step towards her and dropped his voice so that it would not carry. "Careful what you said to people. You've only been in for four years maybe it's not too late for you to get out – you  _should_  get out. You get too fucking attach, sweetheart, and when you do that, the longer you stay, the more you die a little bit inside."

The shock washed over her features. She had briefly thought about it before, but to get out would be to tie a rope around her own neck. Victors never left their arena, and her job was an arena she cannot get out either. She didn't blame him for not knowing that her situation was not much different than him – they were both trapped in this – because Haymitch never had to consider her position as an escort. He never had to think about whether he could quit or not or what he would have to do to get a promotion because the option was not available to him but it was different for her.

This wasn't the time to tell him either so instead of saying anything more on the subject, she let a smile graced her lips.

"Please take care of yourself."

Effie hesitated before she kissed him on his cheek. Haymitch blinked in surprise but passed it off as a Capitol thing. They were always kissing each other on the cheeks as a form of greeting.

The train had pulled away and when Haymitch turned his head, seeking her out only to see that she had turned away and was walking away from the platform.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, well, idk what this is but there you have it. if you're wondering why there wasn't a post for Day 4 yesterday, it's because the theme was AU so i made a gifset for Raptors Out of Containment instead of writing a fic. The gifset can be found on my tumblr!


	5. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 - Fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will conclude my hayffie week. I’ve had a fun one week, so much fun!

** Dreams **

There were good days and there were bad days.

The manner in which he woke up each morning was an indication of how the rest of the day would turn out to be. If he woke up on his own, long after the sun had risen in the sky, it was a bad day. If Effie woke him up, it was a good day.

Haymitch was not an optimistic man by nature but he would declare the day to be a good one whenever Effie emerged from her room. When that happened, she would always go looking for him and she would wake him up then. Even if she was only going to spend the rest of the day curled on the sofa, he didn’t mind it as long as she was out of her room because on bad days, Effie would shut him out.

Personally, he felt that it was highly unfair of her to be living in _his_ house only to ignore him altogether but he had never voiced it out loud because when she had appeared on his doorsteps three months prior with two large bags in tow and told him that she needed some place to stay for a little while, away from the Capitol, he had been glad she had chosen him. The fact that he crossed her mind and that he was the one she sought gave him some assurance that she did not completely hate him because he was certain that she did since she had viciously told him how his actions at the end of the Quarter Quell had hurt her, both physically and emotionally.

Haymitch was sweet on her.

It was not something he consciously realise he was doing of course. Peeta had pointed it out to him one day and a deep frown had settled over his features. Despite the fact that he was slightly embarrassed and disgruntled that the boy noticed, it was not enough for him to change his ways.

He reminded himself that it was for Effie, not just some other woman. Besides, what he did for her was nothing out of the ordinary.

When he saw her lying on the sofa quietly with her eyes glazed over, he would make her tea and leave the cup on the coffee table for her. The softly mumbled ‘thank you’ made his lips twitched.

When he saw her sitting outside on the porch with her legs tucked under her on one of the old wooden chairs, he would sit on the steps and silently keep her company. The gentle squeeze of his shoulder as she passed him by on her way back to her room at night was all he needed to know that she appreciated his presence.

When she wandered a little further away out on the yard and froze each time a goose came too near, he would chase the fowl away so she could continue with her mindless journey. She would slip her hand in his to seek his comfort, and he would gently squeeze her hand to let her know he would always have her back.

When she did talk to him, he listened. He never did that, not before the war. He was an expert at tuning her out but he was learning to pay attention and her voice was precious nowadays.

Haymitch gave and kept on giving without ever asking for anything in return because he knew himself. For years, he had kept taking whatever it was that she was willing to give to him; her body, her kindness, her friendship and her heart. He took it all without giving back.

So that night when he was caught up in his own nightmares with the sheets tangled between his legs and his body was damp with sweat, he was surprised to be woken up to gentle strokes of fingers down his spine. Up and down, up and down, in soft comforting gestures.  

“It’s just me,” she said quietly when she felt him stiffened once he became completely aware of his surroundings.

Her voice was soothing and calming. Still, it did not stop him from scrambling up into a sitting position in alarm.

She was in _his_ bed.

“Effie,” he breathed out. “What – What are you … Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“You had a nightmare.”

Haymitch rubbed his face. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, sorry I woke you up.”

There were no replies from her and since she did not make any move to get out of his bed, after some slight hesitation, Haymitch laid down next to her.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, turning on her sides with her hands under her cheeks.

Was that how it would be tonight? She was just going to sleep here in his bed as if it was something normal?

“’Night,” he answered.

He stared at the ceiling with one arm folded across his stomach and the other on his forehead.  It was a while later when he remembered the knife tucked beneath his pillow. His hand slid under it and he swept the knife away where it clattered on the floor.

If Effie heard it, she said nothing.

Like her, he turned on his sides so that their backs were facing each other.

Haymitch couldn’t fall back to sleep. He was very much awake and very much aware that she was next to him. They had never slept in the same bed together, not in the innocence sense of the word, of course.

His fingers were itching to touch her, to feel her skin under his palm and her warmth but he wasn’t sure how welcomed he would be. He didn’t want her to think he wanted sex and he didn’t want her to feel obligated to give it to him.

For the second time that night, when her arms snaked around his torso, he startled very badly. He was glad he had thrown his knife as far away from him as possible.  

 _Is she spooning me?_ He froze as the thought entered his mind.

Effie must have felt it too because she asked, “do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he told her. “No, you can stay.”

With him, actions often speak louder than words so to assure her that he did indeed wanted her to stay he rested his hand on top of hers. He waited to see if she would pull away at that touch but she did not. He let out sigh when she pressed a kiss on the naked skin between his shoulder blades.

Something between them had shifted. Haymitch blatantly ignored it. It would not be a good idea to bring it up right now but this…. In bed together, doing nothing but holding on to each other was something they had never done. Five years ago, it would have sent him into a panic. It would have sent him running. But he wasn’t the man he was five years ago and neither is she.

“My nightmares are about dying,” she confessed. “And about being left behind, forgotten.”

He blinked and focused his attention back on her, partly surprise that she was talking about it.

“I won’t ever forget you. Would be hard to.”

“Not even if I’m dead?”

“We’d make quite a pair,” he snorted, deflecting her question. He didn’t want to think about her dead. “Mine are about me being a killer.”

“It’s just a nightmare. I’m not dead and you didn’t kill anyone. Just a nightmare.”

“Not true. Those kids…”

She tightened her hold on him and after a while, Haymitch turned, lying on his back. She shifted to find a comfortable position. Her head ended up pillowed on his arm and she moulded herself against him.

He couldn’t stop himself. He dropped a kiss to her forehead, surprising her with that act of tenderness.

“Go to sleep, Haymitch. Nothing will happen, I promise. You took such good care of me since I came, I’ll take care of you tonight.”

He tilted his head slightly to take a better look at her and then he settled back comfortably against the pillow. He rubbed circles on her knuckle with his thumb, listening to her quiet breathing.  

“There is a stream not far from the woods,” he heard himself talking. “Do you … You wanna go?”

“Why?” she questioned.

He shrugged.

“You haven’t left the house much except to wander around on my front yard when you feel like it. I know you wouldn’t want to go to town, nothin’ to see there anyway – it’s still rebuilding. So I thought… You’d like the stream, sweetheart. It’s quiet. No one will disturb you there if you wanna get some fresh air.”

“You will come with me?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes.”

“What can we do at the stream?”

“You can soak your feet in the water,” he answered. “You can take a dip. It’ll be good. Something new, yeah?”

Effie lifted her head then to look at him.

“Like skinny dipping?”

“Wasn’t what I had in mind,” he chuckled. “But yeah, skinny dipping is also an option.”

Effie nodded, her expression was serious. “Skinny dipping.”

He stared at her. “You want to… Wait - did you really say skinny dipping? As in _you_ want to -”

She seemed uncertain now that he was questioning her.

“I’ve – It’s just that I have heard about it but I have never done it before in my life. Not in the Capitol. You said something new and that thought crossed my mind. So I just thought – “

“Sure,” he cut her off before she could continue rambling and squeezed her arm lightly. “If you want to swim naked, then yeah, sure, we can do that.”

“Will there be people there? What if they see the scars…”

“Only me, sweetheart,” he assured her. “And you don’t have to hide from me.”

“I’m not…” she shook her head. “I’m not hiding. You’ve seen the worst of me since I came here – messy and ugly and … Well, you haven’t run away.”

“Well, that’s ‘cause it’s my house,” he teased. “Where would I be runnin’ away to?”

His heart nearly leaped out of his chest when he noticed the way the corner of her lips lifted upward into a smile.

He made her smile.

“So… skinny dipping, huh? Who would have thought…”

“It can’t be that different from when we shower naked together before this, could it?”

He laughed then.

“Oh, it’ll be very, _very_ different, sweetheart,” his eyes twinkled. “I’ll make sure you won’t forget it.”

“Go to sleep,” she ordered. “Tomorrow will be a big day.”

“Sweetheart, give me a kiss,” he requested before she could fall asleep and added a ‘please’ just for good measure. He brushed her hair back gently.

She did not immediately give what he asked for and he could see the wheels turning in her head. He kept his hand firmly on her arm and her waist, not letting it wander anywhere else.

Effie studied him and then slowly, she dipped her head, tentatively pressing her lips against his. He smiled against her mouth and returned the kiss but he didn’t try to deep it or take it any further. He didn’t want her to run away. He wanted her to stay and he was willing to let her take control of it.

And she did just that. She told him she missed him as she took her time exploring and getting herself reacquainted with him. She kissed his cheek and buried her nose on the side of his neck, inhaling the comforting smell of whiskey, cheap soap and sweat. She let her hands roamed his naked chest.

“We’re going to be okay, Haymitch. You and I – we will be just fine,” she told him as she settled back down next to him.

Haymitch nodded and this time, he lifted his head to capture her lips, his fingers coiling gently on the back of her neck. They kissed each other slowly and he never thought there was much pleasure to be had in just kissing her but tonight, there were. He could spend the remaining years of his life kissing her.

Eventually, he felt asleep with her weight on him. No nightmares about him being a murderer or her being killed haunted them for the rest of the night. He did, however, dreamt of her swimming naked as the water rippled around her with her blonde hair flowing behind her. She was beautiful. He didn’t mind dreams of that kind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, well, this isn't much of a fluff. I felt that it was more angsty which eventually ended with a little bit of fluff? Angstfluff? We'll leave it at that.
> 
> Also, no fic for Day 6 yesterday because I did a gifset instead which can be found on my tumblr.


	6. Learning His Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Hayffie Week 2016 which would cover five days (Monday to Friday). The theme for day 1 is touches :)

The days and weeks that Effie spent subjected to horror and violence followed by erratic period of isolation had made her adverse to touch.

Even now, far away from the clutches of the Capitol and under Haymitch's watchful gaze, she flinched from it.

She did not want it.

She did not crave it.

It made her pull away even from the most fleeting, innocent touches.

It was a far cry from the person she was, the woman who would not hesitate to reach out, to stroke, to pat, to caress and to hug.

Now, the situation was reversed. It was _him_ who craved her touch. He missed it and he longed for it but he was careful to keep his hands to himself, to give her space, to take a step back and maintain a safe distance when her breathing quickened and she curled in on herself.

Four days after her rescue, he began to establish a system; a series of verbal notice to prepare her when contact was unavoidable.

"Your dressings need to be changed, sweetheart," Haymitch told her in a low voice. "The nurse will have to touch you. Nothin' more than that. Just to change your dressings. I'll be here watching."

Effie heard him but did nothing to acknowledge that he had spoken. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him gave the nurse a curt nod and only then did the nurse approach Effie's bed. Still, her entire body went rigid and tense. Her jaws were clenched tight, teeth grinding against each other the entire time.

Like he promised, Haymitch remained by her side, close but not touching.

It took her a few more days, perhaps longer, she wasn't truly certain but it started with the smallest, inconsequential of touches; the tip of his finger against hers when he passed her a drink or the accidental brush of his palm against the skin of her shoulder when he pulled the cover up to her chin.

Haymitch treated her like a wounded animal – a fact she would have hated if she could muster the energy to be angry. He was careful to build trust, careful to assure her that he meant no harm.

"I won't hurt you," he murmured under his breath one day as his hand hovered above her head. He waited for her to recoil or to draw back but she held his gaze, so slowly, he lowered his hand and gently brush her back from her forehead, gave her a wan smile and let his hand fall.

His touches never lingered for long, an attempt not to make her uncomfortable for fear that the improvement that they had made since her rescue would regress.

It went on in that manner for months. It was always him reaching out to initiate contact but at least, she had stopped flinching. She had stopped seeing him as a threat, as someone who would put her through pain. She had associated the feel of his calloused palm on some part of her skin as a sign of comfort and the warmth as a sign that they were both alive. In a way, his touch calmed her and made her feel safe.

It was a year and half after she moved to District Twelve when she quietly and without making a fuss, reached out across the small space to curl her fingers around the palm of his hand that was resting on the sofa.

Haymitch didn't turn to look at her. He didn't act as if this was a monumental event in her recovery. He simply turned his palm up and intertwined their fingers. The only sign he gave to say that he was proud of her was to give her hand a gentle squeeze.

One day, she would do more than hold his hand, she vowed. One day, she would be brave enough to kiss him and thank him for saving her.


	7. Half Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quotes– April 19, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between an angsty quote and a light-hearted one, I chose the latter. So the quote I chose is the one Woody Harrelson gave in his interview: "I have a crush on Elizabeth Banks, I'm not going to lie," admits Woody Harrelson

 

**Half-Truths**

The remodelled studio was different. It was smaller with a lesser audience capacity. Still, as with everything with Caesar Flickerman, it was bright and lively and glaring.

Effie walked in, taking in the sight of the studio. Her gaze strayed towards the raised platform with its comfortable chairs and cushions. That would be where she would be sitting this evening.

She pressed her hand against her thigh as she walk, swallowing the apprehension. Tonight would be her first public appearance after the Rebellion and it was natural that there was much public anticipation for it.

Haymitch was against it. Johanna had told her she didn't owe those people anything but Peeta had supported her. Plutarch had said that some of the people in the Capitol were lost, unable to cope after the war. Effie was managing and she was one of them. If, she, who had suffered brutally under President Snow could manage and move on with her life, then perhaps she could inspire others to do the same, give them hope.

The interview would be done before a live audience. Plutarch had convinced Caesar to keep the number of audiences small for Effie's sake. Still, a hundred people in the audience was still a hundred too many, and it was causing her heart to race and her anxiety to mount.

The interview started off on a good note. She had done interviews before as an escort and with Caesar, who possessed the ability to make his guests feel at ease, it was easy enough to fall back on her experience, and soon, she found herself laughing at something Caesar said.

"Yes, you're right," she smiled. "I picked up a lot of different habits after the war. I think it drove some people over the edge since I was always jumping from one activity to another but it helps to keep my mind occupied. I tried gardening, believe it or not," she nodded earnestly as if to convince Caesar and the audiences, "but I don't have what Johanna called 'green hands' so that didn't work out too well. Peeta tried to get me into painting but umm," she pinched her lips and made a face, "it wasn't for me. I even collected seashells to make them into necklaces but that didn't hold my attention for long. In the end, I settled for knitting."

"Knitting? A peculiar choice…"

"Yes, I knit a lot. It annoys Johanna tremendously, the clicking of the needles, but I enjoy it. In fact, I think I'm getting quite good at it, if I may say so myself."

"You've brought something with you to the studio..." Caesar said and pulled something out from next the chair he was sitting on.

He lifted it up for the audiences to see.

"Yes!" Effie nodded with a pleased smile on her face. "That's – ah – I knitted that for Annie's son. It was one of the first sweaters I managed to complete. I'm very proud of that."

"You should be. It has quite the design," he remarked. "Now, Effie, District Four... That's where you've been since the war ended."

"That's right," she smiled.

"Has it help with your recovery? And why Four of all places?"

Effie faltered for a second but she smiled and answered the question. "It has. I couldn't be in the Capitol after the Rebellion without it triggering... certain memories so I followed Annie and Johanna to Four. It helps to be away for a little while, to heal. And with Annie expecting a baby at that time, she needed all the help she could get, too. I'm not saying everyone should pack their bags and leave in order to build a life but for me, that was what it takes. Everyone copes differently though one needs to be adaptable. I had to adapt to life in District Four but it was worth it for my well-being."

"Tell me about Four," Caesar encouraged. "What is it like there? Is it different than how you remember it?"

"Well," Effie licked her lip and folded her hands across her lap. "It's a very different lifestyle than how it is here. It's a peaceful place. Life is slow there. It's calming to wake up to the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Annie's house isn't too far from the beach so the waves... That's usually the first thing I hear in the morning when I wake up. That or Finn's crying," she laughed lightly and it made the audience laughed too. "It's a good place, Caesar."

"I can see it in you," Caesar patted her hand. "It looks like Four is good for you. So is this glow of - shall we say happiness? Or contentment? - due to District Four being a calm and peaceful place? Does it have anything to do with…" he paused dramatically to look at the audience, "something else? Something special?"

"What sort of "special", do you have in mind, Caesar?" Effie crossed her legs, her eyes twinkled in amusement.

"Oh, you know what it is!" Caesar teased. "Is there a man in Four that fills your heart with joy and soothe your soul?"

"You're fishing for details."

"It's not for me," he gestured at the crowd who cheered. "We can all do with a story of hope and love. There are no more fights and no more conflicts. The country is finding its peace, and I think you have, too. But what about love, Effie? Give us something to root for."

"There is no one in Four."

"Perhaps not," Caesar said but he refused to be disappointed and deterred because the grin was back in place. "Perhaps, because there is someone else from another district, say, Twelve?"

Effie blinked and shifted in her seat.

"Twelve? Oh, Caesar, wherever did you get this idea? I have only been to District Twelve twice since the Rebellion! I have no hope of finding a man in Twelve when I hardly spend any time there."

 _Not to mention the history and the reputation I have there,_ she added quietly.

" _You_ might not be spending time in Twelve but word has it that a certain Haymitch Abernathy has made several visits to District Four."

Effie bit her tongue. Caesar was dangerously close to the truth and one rule of publicity that she learnt was to tell them half-truths. The audiences are not stupid and to deny something outright would be insulting to them.

"He has," she offered the audiences a smile. "He comes to visit Annie and her son, to make sure we are all doing well. Haymitch is not the kind to shirk his responsibilities. Katniss and Peeta are his responsibilities, so is Annie, Finn and Johanna. He's a good man."

"What about you?"

"He visits me, too, of course. It is unavoidable when Annie, Johanna and myself are all living together."

"It is interesting to note your description of him as a 'good man'. Tell us about this shift of opinion. You had a very different opinion of him before, if I recall from previous interviews."

"Like you said, it was before. It was years ago, a lifetime ago. Things are different now."

"How different? Is there something between you two?" Caesar pressed.

Effie uncrossed and crossed her legs. Haymitch would never appreciate her discussing about their private life in front of the cameras.

 _Half-truths,_ she reminded herself.

"Is there something between us?" Effie echoed. "Well, I don't know about Haymitch. I can't speak for him."

Caesar's eyes widened imperceptibly, as if he knew he was about to strike gold. This was the sort of thing - the kind of gossips - that would increase viewership and whether or not he was her friend, his show was his priority.

"But you can speak for yourself... Surely there is something you can tell us? Come now, Effie, don't let us hold our breaths for long."

"I can speak for myself, yes," Effie nodded and leaned forward. "I have a - **_I have a crush on Haymitch Abernathy, I am not going to lie._** "

She left it at that and she could hear the collective gasp of the audience.

"Could this be another star-crossed lover? Is there a story worth telling?"

"Oh, no," Effie shook her head. "No, it's not at all like that."

"How so?"

"Well," Effie smiled as if she was keeping a bigger secret she didn't fully intend to reveal, "for starters, there is nothing keeping us apart. I like him, that is all. I enjoy his company when he visits, which is not as often as Finn or myself would like."

"Except the distance... You in Four and him in Twelve," Caesar pointed out. "That is keeping you apart. I think I can understand why it might be difficult for you to be in Twelve... "

She covered her mouth daintily with her fingers as she laughed, interrupting Caesar before he could delve too deep into that topic. She did not want to discuss her reluctance and apprehension to be in Twelve on national television.

Instead, Effie kept it light, saying, "Oh, he must have fallen out of his chair if he's watching this! I can just picture the utter shock on his face."

When Haymitch called her that night, he didn't hesitate to address the topic.

"Only a crush, huh? What are you? 10?"

"You watched the interview?" her brows furrowed in surprised. "I didn't think you would bother. You were against me doing it."

"Yeah, 'course I did, sweetheart."

She smiled even though he couldn't see it. "I miss you, Haymitch."

"You're sayin' that 'cause you have a crush on me or what?" he teased.

"Don't be daft. I am saying that because I truly miss you and you _know_ I love you. I do, truly."

"I know," he told her. "You tell me that all the time."

"You don't."

He was quiet. "You know it. You know it and that's enough. Ain't it?"

"Yes, but it would still be nice to hear it sometimes."

 


	8. If there's a Will, there's a way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliches - 19 April 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because the theme, I chose a cliche plot and hope that it is cliche enough for the theme! It’s got a dead grandmother, a will and marriage. 
> 
> Also, in all seriousness, I meant for this to be a cliche rom-com but mid story, it turns out angsty.

**If there's a Will, there's a way.**

Nona Trinket was born on the ninth day of the eleventh month and often joked that if she didn't die on the ninth month, her name would be wasted and she would be sorely disappointed. Effie hated that joke simply because she hated thinking about a world without her grandmother.

That day had come to pass. Her grandmother had perished during the Rebellion, and it pained Effie's heart more than any torture or cruelty President Snow could inflict on her. Still, she shouldered on after her grandmother's death and after the war, trying to rebuild her life. The psychological and emotional scar was a challenge but so was the environment. The country was picking itself up from the ashes and the economy was bad. Still, Effie was determined to move on and adapt.

When she received a call from a law firm seeking her presence in the office, she was surprised and then she began to count her luck. Even in death, her grandmother was looking out for her.

Effie sat on the hardback chair, listening attentively to the lawyer explaining to her about her grandmother's Last Will and Testament. It all seemed perfectly in order until the lawyer came upon a clause.

"I beg your pardon?" Effie said sharply.

The man cleared his throat nervously.

"It states right here in the Will," he slid it across the table. "It forms part of the condition, a major condition and I'm afraid I will not be able to release the inheritance to you until you have fulfilled said condition."

Trust her grandmother to have something up her sleeve, Effie fumed to herself.

"Oh, really? She is _always_ full of funny business, that woman. Mother often said she never quite behaved the way it was expected from someone born and raised in the Capitol, and this is proof of it, is it not? Now, Otho, what else does my grandmother need from me - my first born child or perhaps, a chalice of sacrificial blood?"

Otho seemed taken aback by the tone of her voice. "Miss Trinket, you are quite possibly –"

"Being overdramatic? Or overreacting? Well, yes, I think I am. You would be too if you are in my shoes. I mean, I am being told that I would have to get married in order to get her inheritance," Effie went off, her voice raising a notch higher. "Who does that? Have you had any clients who had such similar stipulations as Nona Trinket? I hardly think so. Which begs the question, why would anyone – Why would my grandmother place such a demand upon me? Unbelievable! If you think I am being dramatic, well this Will, is a fine example of my grandmother being dramatic, as well."

"Well," Otho laughed lightly. "She explained to me the reason she believe the clause was necessary."

"Oh, please, do enlighten me."

"Nona was worried about you. You know she loves you dearly, more than anything."

"What was it that she was worried about?"

"That you will never settle down, of course. That you will never find yourself a good husband. The years went by and you came home with no suitors. You rejected reputable men that your mother chose for you. Naturally, Nona was worried. She came here a few months before the Rebellion broke out to amend her Will to include the clause. She was very proud of herself," Otho smiled at the memory. "She said she had found a way."

Effie bit the inside of her cheek. She had her reasons for rejecting those men. There was only one person she wanted and he didn't feel for her the same way she did for him, not as deeply. Then again, they never were one to talk about the nature of their relationship and so Effie kept him to herself, her own dark secret. She didn't even talk about him to her grandmother. Nona would probably be more accepting of Haymitch than her mother ever would but Effie would never find out now.

"This is preposterous, Otho. It is archaic. Surely it is within the capacity and jurisdiction of the courts to revoke such unfair terms?"

"The law is clear on this, Effie. The terms of the Will have to be fulfilled. You have thirty days to find yourself a husband, failing which your inheritance will be released to the State. Your thirty days begin from the day you are made aware of the contents of the said Will. That will be today. Good luck, Effie."

Nona had left her a comfortable sum of money that could help her. She could get a better house with no leaking roof and hot running water in a better neighbourhood where she didn't have to sleep with an eye open, where she wouldn't be robbed like she had been robbed twice before. She could move to a nice neighbourhood where she wouldn't have to walk with a key between her fingers in fear that she would be attacked.

She would not have to worry about having enough to last her till her next salary. She would even have enough for a start-up capital to start a business.

Effie read the Will again. Forget a new house. She would inherit her grandfather's cosy house in the suburbs of the Capitol. The State had seized it after the war ended and it would be release to her, the rightful owner.

Except, of course, for that small problem on hand - she needed a husband.

The first thing she did was to work out every loophole in that Will that she could think of. So far, it was fool proof and even with Plutarch's help, they found only one way around it but she would still need to get married.

"I'd rather not, Plutarch, I'd rather not get married at all. Surely there has to be another way?" she lamented desperately. "I have a mere fourteen days left and that is hardly sufficient time to properly get to know someone for me to marry him."

"It says marriage, it says nothing about getting to know someone and I have pointed it out to you, Effie, it certainly made no mention of you having to _remain_ married. Do as I suggest."

Effie released a breath. "I will still need to find someone, and nobody wants to be associated with me. I am traitor, after all, to both sides."

"There are no sides anymore. You are thinking of strangers, why not set your sight to your friends and acquaintances?

"I don't have that many of them left. And even so, Annie and Johanna would hardly be suitable. Peeta is like a son to me."

"You are on the right path," Plutarch egged her. "Who else?"

"Haymitch," she breathed out.

Her heart clenched painfully at the thought of him and she felt the familiar pull of longing.

"You should call him. He misses you."

XxX

Effie didn't call him.

She was of the opinion that this was the kind of conversation one should have in person. So there she was on a train enroute to District Twelve, feeling anxious and apprehensive. It wasn't the impending marriage proposal that had her nerves tangled, it was the thought of meeting him after so long.

When she stood in front of his door, a part of her wished that he would not open the door for her so she could turn around and leave but that did not happen. He pulled the door open and did a double take at the sight of her before he stepped back to let her in.

"Hello, Haymitch," she greeted him, her voice soft and gentle.

He dropped on the sofa across from her, watching her warily.

"What are those noises?"

"Geese," he said.

"I'm sorry to drop in unannounced," she apologised but Haymitch merely stared at her. It made her uncomfortable and always someone who needed to fill the silence, she asked, "How are you doing?"

"Didn't think you'd care," he shot back.

Effie sighed. This was all going horribly wrong.

She couldn't fault him. The last time they spoke, there had been a lot of harsh words thrown back and forth, before she completely deflated and collapsed on the chair in Snow's mansion. She told him that she was disappointed in him and that had hurt him more than her anger would have. She had told him that she never wanted to see him again and that the only thing he could do for her after leaving her behind to be tortured was to never look for her.

"You did it once before. You left me and never came looking. You can do it again," she had said.

She saw the hurt flashed in his eyes and somehow, a small part of her drew satisfaction from that. He had stormed out then, took Katniss home and had taken her words to heart. He never looked for her and left her alone just like she wanted. He never call, he never write, he never step foot in the City, but he asked after her from the kids and from Plutarch.

"I need your help," she admitted.

"Do you?" he scoffed. "That'll explain the visit. People don't usually come lookin' for me unless they want somethin' from me."

She was quiet because he was right. He was always on her mind but her anger had made her kept him at an arm's length and now that he was the only person who could help her, she came looking for him.

"What is it?" Haymich leaned forward when Effie was quiet for too long, the concern etched on his face. "Everything alright?"

Her heart was divided and the self-doubt had sowed its seed in her mind.

_Is this the right thing to do?_

Effie raised her head to look at him and she knew, really _knew_ that if she asked, he would do it. He would help her if it meant helping her get out of the situation she was in, and partly because he would be driven by his guilt for leaving her behind and needing to make things right. He would think that he owed it to her and he would do it to settle the score. That was what she thought and it didn't sit right with her to manipulate him in that way.

She rose to her feet.

She couldn't do it. She didn't want to take advantage of his lingering guilt. It was wrong. She couldn't back him into that proverbial corner.

She had to find someone else. There was bound to be a willing man somewhere. She just had to look.

Perhaps, Otho could draft a contract for her and whichever man she could convince to enter into the contract with her. The terms would be simple enough. They would get married and then divorce once she received her inheritance and in return, she could give a percentage of her inheritance to the man. Circumstances in the Capitol was dire enough for people to do what it takes for money, even it means marrying her.

"I'm terribly sorry but I – I should go."

Effie turned to leave but he grabbed her arm to stop her. The touch of his hand on her skin sent her reeling off balance. Her body thrummed and she longed for his touch, for him to take her into his arms.

"Sweetheart," Haymitch started.

It made her bit her lip. She used to hate that moniker when they first met but now, she missed it too much.

"You said you needed help."

"I – I thought I did. You're not the right person for it, I'm sorry, Haymitch. I've wasted your time."

"You didn't waste mine. You wasted yours. You came all the way down to Twelve and now you're getting cold feet 'cause that's what this is, ain't it? You're gettin' cold feet. Spit it out, sweetheart. If you really need help then say it. I ain't gonna mock you for it. Listen, whatever it is, if you're in trouble or anythin' like that, you tell me. I'm here, Effs, I'll help."

"You will. That's the problem, Haymitch, you will agree to it. And what I intend to ask you will be the most absurd thing you've ever heard and you wouldn't be amenable to it but your guilt - "

"What's guilt got to do with anything?"

"I know you," she spoke quietly. "Sometimes I think I know you too much. You haven't forgiven yourself for leaving me behind."

"You haven't forgiven me," he murmured. "What is it that you need, Effie? Must be serious if you're bringing _that_ up. Tell me."

"I need you to marry me."

Haymitch stared, loss for words. He opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut a second later.

"You need me - say that again."

"I need you to marry me."

His gaze instinctively fell on her stomach, searching for a sign.

"It's not like that!" she sputtered defensively. "You didn't impregnate me. I am – I am not pregnant."

"You better start explaining why you're suddenly here with a fuckin' marriage proposal."

She painstakingly explained it to him, including the way around that she and Plutarch had thought of.

"It'll be a temporary arrangement. A few months at best, and once the terms of the Will are fulfilled then we can get a divorce. You won't ever have to see me again."

He rubbed his hand at the back of his neck and threw her a sharp, disdainful look at her last sentence. "So it's all very simple and technical to you, huh?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Marriage ain't a contract, sweetheart. That's not how things are done here in Twelve. What you want to do dishonours the sanctity of a marriage. It ain't a contract," he repeated himself, "it's a _commitment._ "

Effie never expected that from him. She never expected to hear that but they were both raised differently. It was just like sex. She was open and willing to experiment with different lovers when she was younger, while he didn't understand how anyone could be so blasé about it in the Capitol.

_It's a commitment._

If he ever chose to marry, that woman was lucky, Effie thought.

The Capitol did not hold the same view on marriage. There was a lot of marriage of convenience, a lot marriage based on contract terms, open marriages which allowed you to keep more than one partner and marriages based on pre-nuptial agreements.

"I - It doesn't matter, like I said, this is a mistake. You don't have to do this."

"If I said no, who will you ask?"

"I will find a way," she tossed him what she hoped was a reassuring smile because truly, she had no one else.

"Not good enough. Who will you ask?"

"I don't know, Haymitch. I thought of you first so I came and I – Look, this is not your problem. This is mine. It is my life so I will find a way."

"We get married, you get the money and then we get a divorce, yeah?"

"Yes."

"No funny business in that damn Will like you needin' to have a kid or anythin' like that?"

"No. The Will made no mention of it."

"I've got money. You can – "

"I don't want your charity," Effie told him angrily.

Once again, she rose to leave but he beat her to it.

"Fine, I'll do it because you ask."

"Haymitch..."

"I said yes, didn't I? If that money and that house is what you need to get your life together and move on, then..." he shrugged and left, leaving her alone in the living room.

He disappeared into the backyard. She would have gone after him but she knew he needed time alone to come to terms with what he just agreed. Effie pinched the bridge of her nose. She fervently hoped that she had not made a grave mistake. For years, when she lay next to him on the bed on the mornings when she woke up first, she had fantasize about what it would be like to be married to him, to wake up to lazy mornings with him next to her and to wear his clothes because it was more comfortable than hers. She had tried to imagine being married to him and now that he had agreed to it, she could no longer picture it.

She wanted it to be real. She never wanted it to be like this.

She wanted it to be real.


	9. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vi. Secrets – April 22, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's the last day of Hayffie Week! It's been such a fun week :) I had nothing posted for day 4 because I went for the Captain America: Civil War Southeast Asia Premiere right here in Singapore (!) and had no fic prepared for the day.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. i've decided to do an au! (a superhero au.)

 

 

* * *

** Always **

To say that prison left an effect on her would be an understatement. Prison changed her, made her into a different person. For weeks now, Effie had not felt as if she was the same person as before her arrest.

Everyone - her doctor, Peeta, her sister and Annie – including Haymitch, had told her that she needed to give herself time, and that it was normal to face trauma from her experience. She wasn't sure. It seemed easy to chalk it all up to trauma, it seemed like a catch-all and she wasn't comfortable with that.

Was it trauma that she snapped at people, Haymitch mostly, for the most banal of things and mistakes? Was it trauma to always be quick to anger? Was it trauma to dream night after night watching herself slowly slipping away and losing control, and hurting everyone around her especially Haymitch? Was it trauma to have her hands shake and for the objects around her to vibrate and crash?

She wasn't certain if trauma had anything to do with the latter, but she could be wrong. She could simply just be insane.

_I'm insane._

That thought circulated in her mind as she stared at the chair hovering in circles a few inches above ground. The energy thrummed in her body, shifting outwards from her core towards her hand.

This was not the first time it happened. It was the third time this week and each time it happened, Effie felt a strange sense of peace washing over her. It made her crave for it, made her want to use and accept whatever it was that had inflicted her and given her these capabilities.

She had no explanation for what was going on and she was afraid, rightfully so.

The knock on the door startled her. With her concentration broken, the chair thudded loudly to the floor, falling backwards.

The knocking stopped. Holding her breath, Effie waited.

"You okay, sweetheart? Did somethin' happen or what? Thought I heard a crash."

"I – Yes, I'm fine," she stammered. "My book fell."

Her heart was still racing.

"Right. I came to tell you that Peeta sent bread. Come down and eat."

"I'll be... I'll be out in a minute, Haymitch!"

Effie righted the chair and waited. She heard Haymitch's retreating footsteps and heard him moving about in the kitchen. She retraced her steps back to her bed.

She had been here for a while and during that time, not once had she told him about what was happening to her. How could she when she didn't know it herself?

Haymitch wasn't blind, though. He noticed something was not sitting right and he made an effort to ask her about it. She lied to him, like she had been for weeks now. She told him the shakes were from her panic attacks. He was worried, she could tell, and he wanted her to talk but she always ready with a smile on her face, assuring him that she was fine. She told him the cold sweat and bouts of fever was because she was tired which affected her immune system. Still, no matter what he said, she wouldn't see the doctor. She had enough of those.

She should tell him. She was living in his house. Something was clearly happening to her and it could affect him one way or another. She didn't know how long she could deal with this alone.

Effie trusted him with her life but she was afraid of what he would think of her if he knew.

Despite what she told him earlier, Effie remained in her bed for the rest of the day.

He was trying and he was meeting a brick wall at each turn. He was trying to understand her but it was a difficult thing to do when she remained cooped up in her room and gave him no chance to reach out to her. He was also trying to be patient with her and on most days, he was good at being patient with her except today.

When he came up again that night, he sounded annoyed. She wondered if something had happened but somehow, she couldn't muster the will to ask him about it.

"Come on, Effs," he growled. "How long are you going to stay in that damn room? I went down to the kitchen and your lunch's still there. You haven't had anything to eat since yesterday morning. Are you tryin' to make yourself sick or what 'cause if you are then tell me. I won't bother so fucking much about you."

She flinched.

"I know you're listening," he spoke again from outside the door which she kept locked lately, a fact that hurt him since she had never locked her door to him. "I gotta worry about the kids next door and now I gotta worry about you, too. Just come out and eat, and I won't bother you for the rest of the night."

"I will eat when I'm hungry, Haymitch," Effie answered tiredly.

She closed her eyes, willing him to go away.

"That's bullshit. You ain't gonna do it on your own. I had to force you to have somethin' yesterday. You want me to get one of the kids? 'Cause I will," he threatened.

"No!" Effie sat up abruptly. "Please, don't do that."

"Then come out and – Fuck, Effs, just – just come out, okay? You've been holed up in there for days, maybe even weeks, who the fuck knows? Come out here, let me see you."

"I'm tired, Haymitch. Please just leave me be. I will be fine tomorrow. I just need to sleep and rest."

"Yeah, see, that's the funny thing. You've been saying the same shit. This is my house and you're - "

"I'm what?" She asked with a tinge of fear. Had she overstayed? Had she imposed on him for too long? There was no where else for her to go. "Do you want me to leave?"

"I want you to come out," he hammered lightly against the door. "Look, maybe we can take a walk outside or somethin'. The night's young and weather's good, sweetheart. You need fresh air."

"I'll open the window," she answered instead. "I'll get fresh air."

"Dammit, Effie," he cursed loudly, losing his patience. "I'm comin' in."

The sound of the key sliding into the keyhole made her panic. She didn't know he had a key. The lock clicked and the knob turned, and Effie saw it all happening slowly in front of her, the time to stretch in her dread.

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. Her throat felt constricted and she couldn't draw air. Her hands were clammy and her skin cold. Effie felt the familiar swirl of energy rising in her, forcing its way out.

_No, no, no._

Opening her mouth, Effie gulped in air, forcing herself to calm down and to push the energy down where it can lie dormant like it had been for the past hours while she was in bed and did not feel the least bit threatened.

"Don't come it," the words tore from her throat She was desperate for him to heed the warning for his own safety. "Don't come in, Haymitch!"

 _Don't come in, please, don't come in. I don't want to kill you,_ she pleaded.

The tears were stinging her eyes and Effie choke back a sob. She couldn't control it. She had known it for a very long time that she had no control over what was happening to her, and he was about to pay the price for her secrecy. She should have left. She should never have stayed with him and endanger him but it was too late now.

There was nothing she could do to stop it.

Effie slid to the floor, falling on her knees. She kept her palms pressed hard against the wooden floor in the hopes that whatever it was that was about to come out of her, it would be directed downwards and not at Haymitch.

He stood at the doorway, mouth open in shock, staring at the sight he was confronted with.

"What the fuck?" he breathed out.

Everything in the room, every object from the lamp to the chair, the vanity, the things on it and the bed, was suspended in mid-air, levitating out of balance.

Effie raised her head, pleading with him.

"You need to leave. I – I don't know what's happening."

His gaze fell on her, still in shock and disbelief but she detected no fear in them. There was worry instead.

He took a step forward, hand raised to reach out for her.

Effie blinked. _He thinks I'm in danger, he doesn't realise_ I'm _the danger._

"Effie."

"I said leave!" she screamed in anger, frustrated that he wasn't getting it.

The energy she had tried so hard to contain burst forth from her, hitting Haymitch square in the chest. He flew back, hitting the wall hard and crashed against the floor.

"No!"

The crackling in the air disappeared and the furniture crashed back to the floor.

Effie scrambled forward towards Haymitch only to stop short. She was afraid to touch him, afraid to hurt him even more. In a daze, she sat next to him, staring blankly at the wall ahead of her.

_Please wake up. Please wake up, Haymitch._

The last man did not wake up. He had crashed just like Haymitch had and never got up. That Peacekeeper had died from a broken neck and _she_ had done it. She truly didn't mean to but he came at her with a gun, and she was so terrified that it just happened.

Effie never left his side. The night grew older, and on a tree in the distance, an owl hooted. From the outside, no one could tell that something was amiss except in the house, Haymitch was still unconscious and next to him was a frightened woman.

"Haymitch," she called out his name tentatively.

How long had it been?

_He's dead. Just like that man you killed in prison. Haymitch is dead and it's your fault. It's your fault._

His painful groans caught her attention. Effie's head snapped towards him. She never took her eyes off him as he slowly pushed himself up, rubbing the back of his head.

"I think it's bleeding," he muttered. "Could be worse. Could have broken a spine."

"Haymitch," she called out. She wanted to touch him but drew her hand back.

He turned towards her, asking, "You okay?"

"I – Are you... You're alive."

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Alcohol didn't kill me, don't think that will. Whatever that was. That was you, yeah?"

"I don't know what that is. I – I need to leave. I'm a danger to you," she declared.

"Woah, sweetheart. Hold on. I'm fine. I'm _fine_ , Effie. Maybe a concussion but I'm fucking fine. Sit down," his fingers closed around her upper arm before she could protest and guided her towards the bed. "How did you do - " he gestured around her room at the furniture he saw floating before he was knocked out.

"I don't know. I couldn't do it before."

"Before what? When did you discover you can do this?"

"After ... After you got me out. I – Why are you so calm about this?"

"One of us gotta be, right? What happens when you panic?"

"I hurt you."

"Exactly. So I'm gonna keep my calm but you need to start explaining. I need to understand."

"I killed a man, Haymitch," she admitted it. If this was a day of finding out truths, then he should know the monster that she had become. "In prison. I – It was an accident, just like with you! I didn't mean it. You have to believe me. I didn't mean to kill him."

"Okay, okay," he nodded and took her hand in his. "I believe you. What's going on, sweetheart?"

Effie told him. She spilled everything that she had kept guarded to her heart; the dismay at not being rescued together with Peeta, Johanna and Annie, the betrayal she felt at being left behind because she wasn't on the list and the fear of dying there in prison. The thought consumed her and when the Peacekeeper came for her, she had felt so terribly helpless. She didn't think she could take another beating or another mind game. All she wanted was to protect herself from him.

"And you did," Haymitch assured her. "Your body did … or maybe it was your mind. Hell, sweetheart, could have been instinct itself. What happened to that man, it wasn't your fault. It's self-defense. You did it to protect. Whatever it is that's going on with you, whatever abilities you have, it's a possible defense mechanism, sweetheart. It's _not_ your fault."

"It's a curse."

"It's a protection," he insisted and tilted her chin up, "for _you._ It's there to protect you against anythin' you perceive as a threat or harm. Like you did with me earlier and think 'bout it… It manifested in prison, yeah? Ain't that a time of danger for you?"

"Prison broke me, Haymitch," she refused to look at him. She couldn't. Softly, she said, "I'm a killer. I've – I've had children's blood on my hands and now… I killed a man."

"Then you ain't the only one in the room," he murmured. "I've killed people, too."

"What does that make us, Haymitch?"

"Survivors," he shrugged and pulled her close.

"I'm not afraid of you," she confessed quietly, feeling the weight of his arm around her shoulder. "I'm afraid of what I can do to you… and the children. You saw for yourself what happened. I have no control over it and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Pressing a kiss on her forehead, he said, "I'm not afraid of you either or what you can do. You shouldn't have kept this from me, sweetheart. Trying to keep somethin' this life-changing to yourself… I'm fuckin' surprised you haven't lost your mind yet."

She afforded him a small smile.

"I very nearly did."

"I can help. I don't know how yet but we can figure this out _together._ "

"Together?" She peered up at him curiously.

"We're a team, yeah?"

"We can't be. You don't have abilities," she teased with a small smile.

"It's a fuckin' competition now?" he growled.

She pressed her nose against his neck. It felt good to be held by him, to be able to draw comfort from him.

"We're a team," he continued. "Your problem is you trying to put a lid on it. You're tryin' to pretend it doesn't exist and push it down deep inside you, and when you're angry, when your emotions are compromised, everythin' that you pushed down, it exploded out of you. Use it, Effs, I think it'll be better for you."

She said nothing.

Her head was tucked under his chin and with his arms wrapped around her, for the first time in weeks, she felt safe. Safe and calm enough to turn her palm upwards and let the energy flow through her hand.

The hair brush on the vanity rose. It was steady and it followed the movement of her hand as she raised it higher. She felt in control. She felt calm enough to direct her energy properly. Effie was starting to think that perhaps Haymitch's theory was right. Whatever this was, it was tied to her emotions.

The hair brush moved towards them until it was safely in the palm of her hand.

"Good job, sweetheart," Haymitch squeezed her shoulder.

"Will you help me?"

"You don't have to ask," he told her.

She nodded and burrowed herself against him, seeking his warmth.

"I don't know what I am anymore," she said.

"You're still you, still Effie. That's who you are to me."

She untangled herself from him and he watched her. She could see the surprise on his face when she leaned forward, brushing her lips against his. He rested his hand on the side of her neck, sliding it back to hold her as he deepened the kiss.

He missed her, she knew, and he was controlling himself, letting her take the reign. She could tell from the way his fingers were digging into the flesh of her waist to stop his hand from wandering and touching more than he should.

When she drew back, a little breathless and a little giddy, she ran her thumb over her lower lip. He smirked.

"I think it's fitting that part of what you can do involve moving stuffs. Very convenient," he remarked as he leaned back against the headboard. "We don't even have to move around this house much."

She frowned.

"Go on, sweetheart, use it. Get the food I left outside your door. We can eat it in bed. Go get it, tiger," he teased.

"Do not call me that," she snapped. "I thought you said my abilities was for protection, not to encourage your laziness."

He chuckled in amusement and it made her smile, and she decided, rather than indulge him, she would prefer to get back to getting intimately acquainted with him. She missed him just as much.

In the morning, when she woke up with him next to her, the fact that he did not turn his back on her after finding out and the fact that he wasn't afraid of her made her realise that she should never have kept his a secret from him.

He was there for her and he would be there for her.

Always.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Effie hit Haymitch, you can think of... Havoc in X-Men: First Class and the propulsion of energy from his chest. Except his energy had that red aura to it, but just imagine Effie's as an invisible burst of energy.
> 
> I had another plot of Effie using her superpower to do things like levitating objects around while she was cleaning when Haymitch/the kids walking in on her and finding out, and I ended up, surprise surprise, writing the angsty one.


End file.
